


Requiem

by mydogwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, season 3 sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1716566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock muses on John's wedding day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Back from London, where, sadly, I did not make as much forward progress on the AU as hoped. But the first 104 pages I had with me are now covered in red ink, so that is progress of a sort. Anyway, one rainy evening [there were a lot of those] I was sitting in my hotel room and I got inspired. This little piece kept me awake late into the night.
> 
> Hope you like it and, as always, I love to hear your thoughts. And still working on the AU.

The true paradises are  
paradises we have lost.

-Proust

 

Finally I am alone in 221B.

Once it was my natural state, but now it seems so very wrong. However wrong, it is the state to which I shall have to acclimate myself once again. Just one of the challenges facing me. And far from the greatest, sadly.

Having already been forced to say goodbye to you once, it may now be time to be brutally honest [if only to myself] and admit that it seems uncertain whether or not I possess the strength to do so again. But that is indeed what I must do, as everyone I know keeps telling me

They make it sound so simple. As if this whole thing were an occasion for universal joy.

Why can no one at all realise how very hard this is?

Possibly I have been too skilled in my impression of a high-functioning sociopath.

The last time this happened, I was stood on a rooftop while you watched and listened from far below. It was just the two of us. Except for the dead man on the roof behind me and the sniper with his weapon pointed at you, of course. But no one else mattered. You. Me. We were our own universe. But, of course, we always had been. At least in my mind.

Today we will be standing side by side, at least until the moment that I must step away. I already know that step will be more painful than the one which propelled me off the rooftop. Everyone will be all dressed up and no doubt there will be lots of smiles. But all of that is detail and none of it matters at all to me.

Well, really, nothing matters now.

It was so hard that first time, undoubtedly the most difficult thing I had done in my life to that point. Detox was a lark in comparison.

Even with my brilliant plan in place, it seemed most unlikely that I would ever see you again. I knew those lies were probably going to be the last words I ever said to you. I did not really fear dying. I was only afraid of losing you forever. There were so many things I wanted to tell you, but that was neither the time nor the place. And there was no way of knowing how you would respond had I admitted my feelings.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes actually has feelings. Alert the tabloids.

So I lied and I lied and then I said goodbye.

One cannot help but wonder if things might be different now had I been braver then.

Thinking that way might be a clear path to madness. Which does not sound like the worst option to me right now. And I know so many ways to make that journey.

No one would be surprised.

Truthfully, I had always known that hope was a dangerous thing.

But during all those months away, as my mission continued to go well, a few niggling wisps of that so perilous emotion began to work their way into my mind. Or my heart. [I no longer deny having that particular organ, as I try not to be more hypocritical than absolutely necessary.]

Of course, all of that fragile hope was centered on you. John Hamish Watson. The hope that I would actually survive and be able to come home. That the life we’d had together could be picked up, dusted off, and restored to what it had been. Well, what it had been up to a certain point. But I had learned my lesson, John, and it was my intention to be so much braver this time. To seize my second chance and make the most of it.

Ahh, hope.

It really does kill you, doesn’t it?

I did survive and I did come back. And as I had feared so much while standing on that ledge, I have indeed lost you. Forever.

And so today I am supposed to say goodbye to you again. The speech has been written. The ridiculous suit is waiting to be donned.

Everyone says this is how it is supposed to be. The natural order of things.

But.

But, somehow, I do not believe that. Instead, I think that fate has taken a wrong turn somewhere and so things are going very badly awry. This is not how our lives were supposed to happen, I am convinced of that. It was always meant to be Holmes and Watson. John and Sherlock, together in 221B.

But everything is ruined now and I, of course, am the one who ruined it. Is anyone at all surprised?

I am not sure that I can do this, John. But I will try my best, because this is what you want. One of us should be happy.

Do you know how much it is hurting me? If you knew, would it even matter?

I hope it would matter. That is the only whisper of hope left to me now, that you would care, even if only a little, if you understood the pain I am feeling.

Do you know, John?

Does it matter?

fini


End file.
